In what will more than likely go down as the biggest disappointment of the year in film for me, Jacques Audiard’s Rust and Bone isn’t something that I would label as bad but I certainly couldn’t call it very good either. After three straight works of brilliance, this is definitely a step back for him as a filmmaker, though more than anything else that’s due to his screenplay (he co-wrote again with Thomas Bidegain, his collaborator on A Prophet). There isn’t much to fault here when it comes to Audiard’s direction; Rust and Bone is a visceral punch to the gut at times, and there’s a palpable physicality in the lives of these two characters which he is able to capture with a strength that few others would be able to succeed at on this level.

No, the problem here is in the writing, which is all over the place in terms of its narrative, its characters and its authenticity. Rust and Bone centers on the relationship between the brutish Ali (Matthias Schoenaerts) and the recently crippled Stephanie (Marion Cotillard), the two coming together early on after a horrific accident that leaves her without her legs. Whenever the film is focusing on the relationship between these two, it is absolutely on point. The contrast between the incredibly physical presence of Ali and the emotional struggles that Stephanie faces when her physicality is taken away from her is poignant, and both actors deliver phenomenal performances.

Schoenaerts, who exploded onto the scene with his powerful work in Bullhead, has an immediately intimidating approach that makes you fear him but he fuses this character with so much heart that it’s hard not to root for him, even when he’s making mistakes when it comes to his career or parenting his young son. Cotillard provides the perfect contrast, matching that physical, internal approach with a devastating rawness that is absolutely heartbreaking. Audiard manages his leads well and has two actors who deliver in every moment, shining individually but even brighter when they are able to share the screen. It’s when the two are split up that the script begins to fall apart, with subplots that don’t add much of anything, thin supporting characters and glaring narrative contrivances.

Even with the extensive 155-minute running time of the much more subtle A Prophet, Audiard created a pace that move it along so well that it never dragged for a moment, but running at a brisker 120-minute duration this one feels like it runs at least an hour longer. Rust and Bone ratchets the drama up to a level that is strangely aggressive for Audiard, hitting the audience far too loud at times without ever achieving the kind of emotional strength that Read My Lips or The Beat That My Heart Skipped were able to. For the first time, Audiard lets the melodrama control his picture more, presenting it in a way that embraces that as opposed to presenting the more gritty, authentic approach that he has shown such skill within.

This becomes especially troublesome in the film’s final act, where the contrivances are taken to an eye-rolling extreme that actively works against that raw emotional anguish Cotillard and Schoenaerts bring to their roles. Rust and Bone probably has a little more going for it than it does against, but with Audiard’s magnificent track record going into it, the inconsistencies in the writing are surprising and very disappointing. The two leads deliver incredible work, but this is a prime example of how much a bad script can impact an overall picture.

Love, politics and religion set the stage for Nikolaj Arcel’s A Royal Affair, Denmark’s official entry into this year’s Foreign Language Film race at the Academy Awards. Telling the true story of Queen Caroline Mathilde (Alicia Vikander) who, while married to King Christian VII (Mikkel Boe Folsgaard), had an affair with the king’s physician Johann Struensee (Mads Mikkelsen), this is an affair that isn’t afraid to let its emotions all out when the time is appropriate for them. For most of its duration, these intense desires, torments and rages are broiling just underneath the surface and as a result when Arcel allows them onto the surface you are truly able to feel them to their fullest extent.

It certainly helps that he has one of the finest casts I’ve seen so far this year, headlined by three tremendous performances from the leading triumvirate. Mikkelsen, the most seasoned of the group, is unsurprisingly brilliant in his portrayal of a man who plays his cards close to the chest but lets his guard down when in the company of the ravishing Mathilde. He’s a mostly reactionary figure for a large part of the picture, but the final act allows him to really sell the emotions that he had been bottling up inside and this is where he demands your attention in each frame.

Vikander has come onto the scene in a big way this year, receiving standout reviews for her work in Joe Wright’s Anna Karenina and offering an open, incredibly fragile portrayal of Mathilde here. As the constantly scorned queen, she is often found fighting an internal battle not to lash out and forcing herself to take the abuse put upon her, having to hide her inner feelings in exchange for a more peaceful endgame. As with Mikkelsen, she shines brightest in the final act when that slow-burn explodes and she is able to pour out all of the internal anguish she had been building (her animalistic scream is sure to leave a mark), and the luminescence that fills her up when they’re on screen together is a beautiful contrast to the bleaker emotions felt throughout the rest of the picture.

The major newcomer here is Folsgaard, who takes on his first major role with impressive skill, getting a very big character and taking full advantage of it. We are constantly reminded that the king’s mental health isn’t in the best state, though we don’t particularly need the reminder whenever Folsgaard is allowed to bring that insanity to the surface, which is often. Mikkelsen and Vikander are given the opportunity to build more rounded, fuller representations of their characters off of the page which pays off big time in that final act, but Folsgaard’s performance is practically one money scene after the next.

A Royal Affair loses its steam a bit in the final act, as the political shifting behind the scenes doesn’t mesh too well with the love story that takes center stage, but it’s all part of the required setup that brings us to that explosive climax which is well worth any minor complaints along the way. This is one that earns every bit of emotion you eventually feel in those final stages, setting itself up brilliantly along the way. Adapted from a novel by Bodil Steensen-Leth, the script from Arcel and Rasmus Heisterberg doesn’t overly concern itself with feeding you a history lesson, but rather gets the necessary information out while building mostly around that passionate struggle at the heart of the picture. A film that truly earns its emotional payoff, Nikolaj Arcel’s is one that I’m surely going to be rooting to pick up a nomination come January.

The Swiss entry into this year’s Foreign Language Film race at the Academy Awards, Sister could work almost as a companion piece to Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne’s masterful The Kid With A Bike. This one also centers itself on a small, stubborn and determined parentless young boy who strikes out on his own, gets into some criminal behavior and develops a surrogate mother/son relationship with a woman he meets by chance. Here, the boy is Simon and is played with remarkable maturity by Kacey Mottet Klein. Simon is well beyond his years, having to grow up quick in order to provide a living for himself and his sister, portrayed by Lea Seydoux. The two live near a ski resort, and every day Simon heads to the top of the slopes in order to steal equipment from those spending their vacation here so that he can profit from selling it off himself.

Directed by Ursula Meier, Sister has clear influences from the Dardenne brothers, particularly in its shooting style. The camera stays close on the characters almost at all times, often giving a documentary feel to its examination of the two of them and their relationship with one another. There’s a shaky subplot with a kitchen worker played by Martin Compston and a much better one with Gillian Anderson’s wealthy resort guest, but the primary focus of the picture remains on Simon and his relationship with his sister Louise.

The two have grown up with one another and spend their days trying to get by, but as Simon has grown more responsible and composed, sacrificing himself every day in order to provide, Louise is nothing but a burden — she relies on Simon for practically everything, spending most of her time with a bevy of men that she picks up and leaves with for days at a time. The co-dependent relationship between the two of them is further put to the test as Simon’s actions begin to receive unwarranted attention and he grows increasingly jealous of the attention that Louise gives to the other men in her life.

Klein’s performance matches his character in being far beyond his years, perhaps even eclipsing the brilliant work from the young Thomas Doret in that similarly told Dardenne picture, but the standout here has got to ultimately be Lea Seydoux. As a young woman struggling with the burdens of moral responsibility and a yearning desire to just be free and wild, there is always more working beneath her exterior than she lets on and when we finally begin to see her facade crack in the later stages, a character who started off quite unlikeable is quickly turned into one I felt great sympathy for.

There’s a whopper of a twist that I wasn’t expecting at all, but I felt it wasn’t utilized as well as it could have been; however, it does add a whole new level to Seydoux’s brilliant work here and makes you re-examine every stroke of her superb performance that came before it. Sister contains two physical fight scenes between Simon and Louise throughout the film, and in the contrast of them you can see the extensive rift that has grown between them over these events. At the beginning, they are playful and loving, rolling around on the floor while jokingly fighting each other for who can have the best sandwich that Simon stole. The later fight though, is violent and dirty, taking place in the filthy mud and featuring the two going at one other with an almost homicidal rage.

The relationship between the two characters at the center here is fascinatingly explored by Meier, but also impressive is the way that she inserts a subtext with the high/low nature of the setting. There’s a very distinct contrast between the clean, white and beautiful setting of the resort that Simon ascends to each morning and the bleak, muddy and ugly bottom of the hill he returns to every night. Not only does the opposing nature provide a look into the class distinction that Meier softly examines, but it also keys into the lost nature of these wandering figures, constantly striving for something more than the squalor they truly exist in. This all adds an impressive extra layer to Sister, while never becoming such a focus that it takes attention away from the true centerpiece which remains the study of this powerful relationship between a brother and sister.